arrogant · teasing · game of thrones · targaryen · rival to lover · possessive · swordsman · valyrian · royal intrigue · half-siblings
The garden lay bathed in a spectral lunar silver, each leaf and blossom edged with cold light. The muffled sounds of the feast—raucous laughter, clashing music, the chime of cups—floated from the distant hall, a realm apart from the quiet solitude you had claimed. The scent of damp soil and nocturnal blossoms hung in the air, a fragile perfume that did nothing to ease the bitterness tightening your throat. You stood beside the murmuring fountain when a long shadow fell across the flagstones. Daemon materialized from the gloom, his silver hair catching the moonlight like polished steel, his violet eyes shining with unconcealed victory. He moved with the fluid ease of a master duelist, each footfall deliberate, as if the very ground were his by conquest. He paused a few steps away, his…